Dungeon
by spectrosilver
Summary: Ficlet. DP. 'I've always liked it down here.' The girl said, looking at an intricate, glistening spider web that hung in the corner. 'Down in our dungeon.'


Disclaimer: I do not own rights to Harry Potter. All characters and related material belong to J.K. Rowling.  This is for entertainment purposes only, no money is being made.

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**Dungeon**

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spectrosilver

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            Stone walls.  Cold, stone walls everywhere.  Four sides, a ceiling, and the floor.  Cold, grey stone.  The air was pungent like mold -that old musty smell- and damp on their skin.  There were no lanterns, no candles, no lights.  Just the setting of the sun through the window in the corner.  The very small, dirty window in the upper corner of the wall.  "I've always liked it down here." The girl said, looking at an intricate, glistening spider web that hung in the corner.  "Down in _our_ dungeon."

            "Yes, this particular dungeon is quite nice, isn't it?"  The boy sat on the feeble table the girl was on, leaving a few inches of empty space between their bodies. 

            "Do you remember," the girl laughed lightly, though almost sadistically, "we were snogging down here, and you left the door open, and Snape!  Snape walked by and it was so close!"

            "No."  The boy said plainly.  "I don't."

            "_Draco_," she whined, "that couldn't have been more than two months ago!"

            "Mm, yes.  I remember now."  He lied blatantly. It didn't matter really.  There were too many silly instances just the same to remember them all.  So he just nodded and the matter was dropped. It was quiet for a long while following, the echoes of nearby footsteps occasionally bouncing from wall to wall.

            "So-"

            "Pansy-" The girl laughed quietly while the boy just stared.  

            "What is it, Draco?"  

            "Parkinson," he began, withdrawing his address before, "was your mother upset?"

            "Whatever are you talking about?"  She asking consciously, knowing fully well what he was referring to.

            "Was she upset?  You know, when she heard about me?"  He kept his eyes his hands and fumbled around with a hangnail on his left thumb.

            "Oh, about you and Blai-"

            "Yes, Parkinson."

            "I suppose so, but she's gotten over it.  I mean, it's truly none of _her concern.  Why do you ask?"  She smiled a big, faux grin, forcing him to make eye contact._

            "Over the holidays and all.  It was the first year she, well you know, she didn't send me anything."  He shrugged.

            "Oh."  She said, keeping a monotonous tone.  "I do suppose that's because you're not family anymore.  Or, not future family at least."

            "Yeah." Silence.  White, crisp, nothingness.  Complete silence except the repeating echo of footsteps, ringing about through their ears.

            "Draco?"

            "Yes," he turned to her.

            "How are you and Blaise?  Are you, er, happy?  Together?"  She choked it out, almost not finishing the last word.  Luckily, she was used to acting artificial, and she was able to secure it all with smile, however overly forced it may have looked.

            "Parkinson, Blaise and I are through."  He said, his silvery-blue eyes piercing into hers.  The smirk on her face became genuine.

            "Oh, I see," was all she could say.  Literally, they were the only words in her mind.  And then they sat some more.  They sat inertly in the silence of a shadowy, stale dungeon.  

            "Pansy?"  His cold, rough voice broke the silence with a single whisper of her name.

            "What is it, Draco?"  She looked up, startled at the way he had addressed her. He smirked and she knew what he was thinking about.  And right or wrong, she didn't care.  Because he was back.  And this was their dungeon.

            "I remembered to shut the door this time."

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**a/n****: For balance of gender numbers (3 male Slytherins, 3 female) in my stories, I've chosen to write _Blaise as a female.  I do wish J.K. Rowling would make an official decision somehow, though.  It's a bit odd not knowing if _it's_ a _he_ or a _she_.___**


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